


Soul Marks, Secret Identities, and Serendipity.

by apathetic8351



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bottom Deadpool/Top Spider-Man, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, M/M, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Sugar Daddy Wade Wilson, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathetic8351/pseuds/apathetic8351
Summary: Peter and Wade are soulmates, but there's a lot they don't know about each other.Spider-Man and Deadpool are... complicated, but there's a lot they don't know about themselves.-Tags will get updated as I go. I'm not 100% sold on the title so please share any suggestions.Un beta'd
Relationships: Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 118





	1. I'm very immature for my age.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows Peter's stream of consciousness.

Peter had every intention of getting a good night’s sleep, but the knot on his head and the cut on his shoulder have different ideas. Midnight finds him sitting upright in bed, unable to lay down without pain. If he laid on his left, his shoulder would start to bleed again and these are his last clean sheets. If he laid on his right, his goose egg would brush against the pillow and make him see stars. He’s never been the type who could sleep on his back, so that’s out of the question, too. 

Peter flings the covers off with a sigh. Maybe he’ll make some chicken nuggets and put on some cartoons. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to let his guard down long enough to enjoy something so juvenile. 

Before trudging into the kitchen, Peter goes into his bathroom to check his injuries in the mirror. The bumps on his head have faded significantly, and his once-black eye just looks like his usual lack of sleep. Sometimes he truly wonders if being Spider-Man is worth it. Peter tugs his sweatshirt off with a grimace, revealing the angry red gash over his shoulder and across his chest. It cuts right through the soul mark under his collarbone, and he takes a moment to reflect on the words there. 

“It’s you. You’re the one!” 

Those are the first words his soulmate will say to him. He’s thought about the words since they appeared on his sixteenth birthday, thought about what he’ll say in return. “Yep, it’s me. Man of your dreams. I’m the one and I’m here now. What were your other three wishes?” Peter snorts at the idea of trying to be suave. His soulmate probably has something dumb as their mark, a stupid response like “who, me?” on their skin forever. Poor sap. 

Peter pulls his sweatshirt back on, hissing as it settles against the wound. He reminds himself that it’ll be healed by this time tomorrow, but in the meantime it’s much too cold to go without his sweatshirt no matter how much it hurts. His heating works, in theory, but the studio apartment stays cold more often than not. Just another reason to use his oven, he thinks to himself as he preheats it for his nuggets. 

As he waits for the oven to heat up, Peter looks down at his plush pajama pants and fuzzy socks. They remind him of Gwen, the best ex-girlfriend a man could ask for. 

_When Gwen finally had enough of Peter’s “vigilante bullshit,” as she put it, she told him that she was proud of him for doing what he did; it just wasn’t fair to her that she went to bed alone each night and he crawled through the window in shreds each morning. She was right, and so she and Peter went their separate ways with tears in their eyes but smiles on their lips as they wished each other well. The words on their skin had warned them a long time ago that they wouldn’t last. Standing in the doorway with her suitcase in hand, Gwen turned to Peter with a knowing smile._

_“I probably forgot a few things when I packed. If I did, don’t worry about getting them back to me.” With that, she left. A few days later, Peter opened a drawer to find fuzzy pink pajama pants and several pairs of fluffy socks with cutesy designs. A few days after that, he noticed a stuffed rat tucked away on a closet shelf. It didn’t take long at all for Peter to arrive at the conclusion that nothing bad can happen when you’re cozy and comfy cuddling your rat friend named Chuck._

The oven beeps at Peter, pulling him away from his memories. As he places freezer burnt chicken nuggets on the baking tray, he decides he’ll probably needs some ketchup to disguise the burnt taste. He normally doesn’t care much for the stuff, so he’ll have to go and get some. He can run to the bodega on the corner while they cook, but he needs to change out of his pj pants first. 

The pants get tossed on the bed, and the wad of pink fluff waits patiently for Peter to return and choose it over his jeans. Peter decides his sweatshirt will keep him warm enough; there’s no way he’ll be able to pull his heavy coat on over his hurt shoulder. He pats his pockets to make sure his wallet’s there, blows Chuck a goodbye kiss where he lies on the pillow, and darts out the door. 

Despite his injuries and his lack of sleep, Peter is in a fair mood tonight. He might even treat himself to some candy from the bodega. The shop cat, Scrumples, gets an obligatory pat as Peter makes his way to the drink cooler. He grabs an energy drink, a bottle of ketchup, and a handful of those lollipops that have the gum in the middle. The cat chirps at Peter as he passes by a second time, and so Peter stops to coo some nonsense at the regal-looking tabby. 

“What a handsome boy,” he hums affectionately. “I might have to cat burgle you and bring you home with— you ignorant asshole! Watch where you’re fucking going, shit for brains!” The outburst is uncharacteristic of Peter, but someone has just smashed into his injured shoulder and sent spots across his vision. 

“It’s you,” his assailant breathes, momentarily speechless. “You’re the one. You’re the one who’s made me walk around with insults on my back for the last twenty years!? You...” the stranger trails off as he gets a good look at Peter. “You look like shit.” 

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, “it’s me.” He blinks away the dark shapes to look up at the man whose face is hidden in the shadows of a hood. “I think I’m going to faint.” 

A big hand comes up to grab Peter’s elbow and he can’t help but lean into it. Shaking hands drop the candy and ketchup, but the stranger catches the drink before it can spew. Peter loses a few seconds of time before a voice brings him back. 

“You live close?” Peter nods weakly, flapping a hand in a general next-door direction. “Let me help you to your place and I can come back to get your stuff,” the voice offers. Peter squints at the looming Grim Reaper of a man and nods again. He can feel the sticky warmth of blood soaking into his sweatshirt. 

As they make their way into Peter’s apartment building, the hooded man starts to talk. And talk, and talk, and talk. 

“I’m Wade. Sorry I bumped into you, but in my defense people don’t usually faint from a little light shoulder-checking. ‘Course, male models don’t usually baby talk cats in the shittiest bodega in Queens, so I guess shame on me for not expecting the unexpected.” Peter mumbles something defensive about how Mr. Delmar is a nice man. The pair begins to climb the first flight of stairs. 

“Speaking of unexpected,” Wade continues too loudly for an apartment building at one in the morning, “I didn’t expect my soulmate to be so beautiful. Almost makes it worth two decades of profanity on my skin; not that I ever minded a little dirty language myself, but everyone always freaks out about the f bomb.” Wade talks for their entire six-flight climb, and it takes the entire climb for Peter to process what he said. 

“Wait, two decades? You’re thirty six?” Peter fumbles with his keys, but his vision still swims through a lake of black splotches. Wade holds his hand out for the keys and Peter obliges. He only makes one wrong guess before he finds the right one. 

“Yeah.. Thirty eight, actually. I’m very immature for my age, if that helps you feel better. Hey, is something burning? Something’s burning.” 

“Fuck, my nuggets!” Peter yanks the oven open and pulls the charred remains of his dinner out. The disappointment blindsides him emotionally; those were the last of his frozen nuggets. He had been so looking forward to something other than ramen. 

“Hey, it’s okay, cutie. No need to cry,” Wade shushes. Peter hadn’t realized that he was. “Why don’t you let me take a look at your booboo and then I can get you some nuggets, okay?” The smaller boy makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. “I can’t go get you anything until I make sure your shoulder is okay.” 

Wade guides Peter to the bathroom, the only door in the apartment that doesn’t lead out. Peter’s bloody and woozy, sitting on the closed lid of his toilet as he stares up at a stranger. A stranger who is fourteen years his senior, and claims to be his soulmate. 

“Can I see your soul mark?” 

“No. Tell me your name.” 

“Peter. Peter Parker. Can I at least see your face?” 

“Not now, Peter Parker. Let me enjoy this while I can,” Wade says dryly. 

“You’re enjoying the fact that I’m in pain?” 

“No! No, I’m enjoying the fact that you haven’t rejected me. But I’m afraid that you will.” There’s a long pause before Wade swallows a lump in his throat. “So please let me enjoy my time with you until that happens. Take your shirt off so I can get you patched up.” 

Something about Wade’s honesty makes Peter oblige without arguing. Wade doesn’t ask any questions as he bandages Peter up. Not about his injuries, or about the prescription bottles that don’t say Peter Parker. He just chooses the strongest pill and shakes one into Peter’s hand. \- 

“Okay, buggaboo, you’re all fixed up. Go get your jammies on, get comfy, and I’ll get us some food, okay? All the nuggets your pretty little mouth can eat. Put some cartoons on and we can choose a movie when I get back.” 

Wade strolls out of the bathroom and through the tiny studio apartment. Once he’s out the front door and Peter is alone, he takes two more pain pills. Not Wade’s fault he doesn’t know about Peter’s spidey-tolerance. Thank god the older man didn’t ask about the names on the bottles. Peter had been buying scripts on the street for years, but he wasn’t proud of it. Sometimes a man just needed something stronger than an Advil after almost dying in a spandex suit. 

Peter shuffles over to his bed and eyes the pink pajama pants. On any other occasion, Peter would be mortified at someone seeing him in the pants. But right now there’s forty five milligrams of opana in his system, which means in about two minutes Peter will feel like he's being dunked into a hot tub full of ice cubes. He really wants to put on his fuzzy pants and a warm sweater and sit down before that happens. 

Peter just barely clicks on We Bare Bears before the tingles start to wash over him and he sinks into the couch. He’s so into the cartoon, he doesn’t hear Wade coming through the front door.


	2. Can we eat now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is focused on Wade's stream of consciousness. I won't switch povs with every chapter, but every now and then Wade will have something to say. His chapters will usually be shorter because I struggle to find a good writing style for him; I try to keep him chaotic and choppy but I also try to keep him readable.

Peter looks so cute in his fuzzy little jim-jams and his precious little bunny socks. Wade nearly has an aneurysm at the sight. 

“How ya feelin’, Petey?” The boy hums a response, eyes locked on the cartoon panda onscreen. 

Well, Wade thinks, at least he’s not in pain right now. Something ugly in the back of Wade’s mind sneers at him. 

_**You drugged him so he would let you hang around.**_ That’s not true. Wade would never do that. 

_**And yet there he is, too high to notice we’re here.**_ Wade thinks he might be sick. It was a cruel joke that the universe was telling him to be with someone he could never be good enough for. He’ll only hurt Peter if he chooses to be selfish and stick around. 

_**You’ll hurt him if you disappear, too. You’re destined to hurt the people you love.**_ Wade knows better than to entertain the idea of being loved back. He should have known better than to think he had any right to impose on Peter’s life just because of a mark on his skin. 

**_The marks on your skin are exactly the reason you have no right to love him._** Wade’s soul mark is unrecognizable after the accident. His chances at happiness got destroyed when his mark did. His scars keep him hidden in the shadows, alone for the rest of his-- 

“You have beautiful eyes,” Peter says in a shy, sweet tone. Wade’s heart skips three beats. Peter stands before him, looking up at him with earnest doe eyes. While Wade was having a mental breakdown, Peter had crossed the room and pulled the hood off Wade’s bald head. Goddamnit, he knew better than to let his mind get away from him like that. 

Wade raises a hand to touch his own cheek, to make sure the scars covering his whole body haven’t disappeared. They haven’t. Peter’s eyes flick down to the McDonald's bag in Wade’s hand. 

“Can we eat now?” 

Wade sputters, “You want to eat? After seeing my face!?” He must be hallucinating. The voices finally won and he’s officially lost it. 

“Yes, please,” Peter smiles. “I want my chicken nuggets.” The older man can’t stop the disbelieving chuckle that escapes him. 

“Okay, but first I want you to put this on.” He holds a CVS bag out to Peter. “It’s the only place that was open or I would have gotten you a better one, and it’s an ugly brown, but I got you a fuzzy sweatshirt so you could be cozy head to toe.” Peter’s response is to bury his face in Wade’s chest and hum happily. It makes Wade want to implode. “C’mon, baby boy, try it on.” 

It hangs loosely from Peter’s slim frame, swallowing him up in cocoa colored sherpa. Peter eats his nuggets looking pleased as punch, and Wade is enamored. For the last ten years, he’s been ostracized from polite society for his scars. He’s scared children, he’s ruined appetites, and he’s been completely alone. But here’s this angel-faced little twink in front of him, smiling up at his bare face as he munches on a twenty-piece. Maybe it’s possible for Wade to find happiness after all.


	3. Very nice and helpful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be focused on Spidey/Deadpool than Peter/Wade.  
> It also has just a little tease of smut!

Despite having fallen asleep on the couch, Peter wakes up feeling well-rested in his bed. It’s been a long time since Peter felt this rejuvenated; he might even venture to say he hasn’t felt this good since before he got his powers. 

He’s lying on his bandaged shoulder with no problem, so he guesses it must be healed. His healing factor is actually pretty incredible, when he has enough food and sleep. But food and sleep are luxuries that Peter doesn’t always have the time or money for. When you’re too broke for real food and too tired to cook anyways, three-minute ramen is the only choice. Turns out, eating more sodium than sustenance isn’t healthy. Shocker. 

Last night, Wade had brought enough Mcdonald’s home to feed an army. Peter had inhaled all of it, too high on painkillers to worry about hiding his mutant appetite. Wade hadn’t seemed to notice, or at least didn’t say anything. 

Speaking of Wade, Peter feels around in bed to confirm he’s alone. He can’t help the sad noise that escapes his throat. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Wade's laying on the couch, obscured from Peter’s view by the high back. He sits up like a vampire rising from a coffin, hooded head coming into view. 

“Mmph,” Peter groans. “Hood off. You look like a wannabe Jedi with it pulled that low.” 

Wade barks out a laugh. “I look more like Darth Vader under here, and I’ve got the personality of Jar Jar Binks to make up for it. I’m only going to subject you to one evil at a time.” 

“I like Jar Jar,” Peter says petulantly. “He’s very nice and helpful. So sue him if he doesn’t fit in.” 

“Yeah,” Wade says a little quieter, “but I’m not always very nice or helpful. The hood stays on.” 

“I saw you last night! What’s the big deal if I see again?” 

“You were higher than Cheech and Chong at Snoop Dogg’s birthday party, you couldn’t process what you were seeing.” Wade scoffs. “I promise you don’t want the hood off.” 

“I wasn’t that high,” Peter defends, but he knows it’s a lie as he says it. He flings the covers to the side and clambers off the edge of his bed, but he freezes in his tracks when he realizes he’s got a stuffed rat tucked under one arm. Fuckin’ Chuck, making him embarrass himself. 

“Find a comfy spot for your rat friend to sit and get dressed. I’m taking you for brunch.” 

Peter turns absolutely bright red, but he does as he’s told. 

\- 

“Wade,” Peter hisses at the hooded man across the table from him. Between them is a truly insane amount of food, all presented beautifully to Peter on literal silver platters. “This is ridiculous, Wade, I can’t let you do this.” 

Wade’s smirk can be heard in his voice. “Well, Peter, I’ve already done it. No take-backsies. Last night you ate enough food for a family of five, and you seemed to really be enjoying yourself while you did it. So today I will be feeding you enough food for a family of six.” 

This man is insane, Peter decides. Wade had called ahead to a swanky brunch place and ordered one of everything. There are at least a dozen options on the table, from flawless omelets to beautifully golden chicken and waffles. 

“I can’t let you do this,” Peter says a second time. 

“It’s already done. Whether you eat it or not, it’s here and it’s getting paid for. Not that I’m asking you to eat it all!” Panic starts to rise in Wade’s voice. “I won’t be upset if you don’t eat a single bite, I promise. I just wanted to treat you to a nice brunch and make sure you’re satisfied. I work a real shitty job for my money and I’m honored to have the opportunity to spend it on a pretty little thing like you. I don’t have much else, no family to introduce you to and no frie--” 

“Wade!” Peter cuts the older man off. 

“I want to give you the world, but money is all I have,” Wade says in a small, sad voice. Peter’s heart does a funny thing that feels like falling.

“This is really nice, Wade. It looks amazing. It smells incredible. I would love to eat this brunch with you, on one condition.” The hood bobs in an earnest nod, so Peter continues. “After brunch, we go home and watch a movie together. No hood.” 

Wade visibly bristles. He should've known the kid would stay persistent about the hood. Most people are too nosy to leave well enough alone, and most of the time Wade relishes the moment that a person stops bothering him and start running for the hills. He doesn’t want Petey to run. Never mind that he didn’t seem phased a bit the first time he saw Wade; he’s sure that the painkillers must have had Peter’s vision so blurry that Wade looked severely sunburned instead of scarred. 

Peter gives Wade puppy eyes from across the table. He only has to bat his lashes once before Wade caves. 

“Fine,” Wade sighs. He’s terrified to show his face, but he knows he can’t say no to those big brown eyes. 

Over brunch, Wade learns more about Peter. The twenty-four-year-old seems both older and younger as he shares his story. Wade starts to notice the forlorn gaze that hides behind long, thick lashes; the frown that plays at Peter’s plush lips when he’s not smirking like an imp hat has a secret. And that’s just it, right there: Peter has a secret. A very big secret that burdens him always, that hides behind a carefully curated wall of half-truths. Wade can respect that better than anyone. He resolves himself to helping Peter bear the weight of the world on his slim shoulders, even if he never learns what’s lurking beneath the surface. 

-

“Okay,” Peter says with a shark-sharp grin. “Time for your half of the bargain.” He closes the front door behind him and quirks an eyebrow at Wade, the picture of mischief. 

Wade takes a deep breath through his nose to ground himself. Fuck, he’s gonna be sick. Peter’s gonna be sick too, when he sees Wade’s face without a drug-induced filter. Peter had eaten nine plates of brunch, and it was all about to come back up. Wade’s shoes are suddenly really interesting. 

“Here’s the deal,” Wade starts to bargain, “we don’t have to do a normal soulmate thing. I can shower you with nice gifts and you can look pretty for me. I won’t make you look at me and I won’t ask to touch you. I just want-” 

“If you don’t want to do this, then don’t,” Peter snaps. “You don’t owe me anything just because of a stupid mark on your skin, but you owe me enough respect to leave me alone instead of showing me pity.” The smile is gone from Peter’s face, but the shark-like hardness is still there. He stands in the same spot as last night, but he looks so different now. Earnest smiles have been replaced by acidic sneers. 

Wade doesn’t react, shocked stupid at the sudden change in attitude. He tries to say something, but only a strangled protest squeaks past his lips. Peter wishes he could punch him, right in the mouth, with all his spidey-strength. 

Peter points a trembling finger at the door. He wants to scream and yell at Wade to get out, but he doesn’t trust himself to say it without crying. 

Wade yanks his hood down. He’d rather lose Peter over something he can’t control, like his scars, than over something stupid like being self-conscious. 

Peter just stares, unsure of what to say. His hand drops to his side, stunned. Okay, so it's definitely worse than he remembered. At least he’s not vomiting or running away. Wade would like to do both, himself. Both men stare at each other in silence until Wade can’t handle it anymore. 

“I’m sorry, Petey. Twelve years ago, I had... an accident.” Wade makes a split-second decision to keep the whole truth a secret. Peter doesn’t need that kind of shit in his life, it just puts him at risk to know. “The scars are all over, baby boy. No fixing this garbage fire. I scare babies, I nauseate men, I terrify women. Even the they/thems can’t get away fast enough.” 

“An accident,” Peter says flatly. It sounds like a question, but Wade has no answer. At least not one he’s willing to explain yet. 

“Everyone has secrets,” Wade whispers. The words put a terrifying weight into the air; it feels like a challenge of some sort. Peter stays silent for so long that Wade wonders if he’s gone into shock or something. It’s objectively better than someone immediately hurling at the sight of your face, but the suspense is killing Wade. 

“The hood stays off in this apartment.” Peter turns on his heel to look for the TV remote, and Wade’s jaw drops. What? That’s it? 

“You're just okay with that? What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Wade can’t believe that perfect, precious Peter is holding him to such incredibly low standards. “You deserve better than some deformed freak with a mysterious past!” 

Peter flops onto the couch with the remote in hand. “Everyone has secrets,” he parrots without looking away from the TV. “Besides, maybe I’m a freak, too.” Peter thinks about his strength, his ability to climb walls, his ability to taste the air around him and know if danger’s nearby. “I have a third nipple.” 

Wade can’t help but guffaw. 

-

Two movies later, when Peter falls asleep on the couch, Wade see himself out. He's had a great day with Petey, but he's feeling a little emotionally overloaded. Time to suit up and do some self care.


	4. What do you think R and R means?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smart person would write the whole story before publishing so they can revise according to new plot points. Technically I am a smart person, but I am also a slightly manic person who hasn't slept. So here, have this!

Deadpool wakes up to someone toeing his side. 

“Wake up, fuck-o. You owe a lady some therapy, after making her see your brain chunks all over the side of the dumpster.” Even through his mask, Wade can tell Spider-Man is unimpressed. It’s not the first time he’s found Deadpool in a situation like this. “You can’t keep killing yourself as ‘self care’, Pool."  
“This is New York,” Deadpool croaks. “We all need therapy. That lady should be glad it was my brains she saw and not a couple of hobos fucking.” His mouth tastes like King Kong took a shit in there, but the voices are gone. For now, at least. “Been a few nights since I’ve seen you around.” 

Spidey shrugs. “I had some work to do across the bay, but I took last night off. Got some much needed R and R.” 

“Ooooooh-wee, Spidey-boo! R and R? I’m jealous,” Deadpool croons. “I’ll give you some R and R any time, baby.” He’s still slumped against the brick wall of the alley where Spider-Man found him, waiting for his arms and legs to start working again. Should be any minute now. 

“Gross,” Spider-Man snorts. “What do you think R and R means?” 

“Rubbin’ and rimjobs? Riding and rutting? I dunno, either one works for me. I gotta say, though, if I get you out of that suit and I find out it’s padded, I’m going to be devastated. There’s no way that ass is real, and yet it is the only thing that keeps me going.” 

“You’re awful. What’d you get up to while I was gone?” 

Deadpool considers flapping a hand at the blood spatter and cracking a joke about ‘the usual’, but something stops him. “I kinda met someone,” he says truthfully as they walk together. “Like, the one. I don’t think it’s going to work out.” 

Spider-Man makes a thoughtful noise. “Too many ass jokes for their taste?” 

“Shit, probably,” Deadpool sighs. “I get so nervous around him that I can’t confirm or deny if I’ve made any ass jokes at him. I sorta black out.” 

“Him,” Spider-Man repeats, inquiring. 

“Oh sure, total shocker that the big guy is queer. Not like I have a special rainbow suit that I wear all July, or like I know every word to every Celine Dion song ever. No way you could have seen this coming. Not like I hit on you all the time!” 

“I thought you were joking,” Spider-Man squawks. “I literally thought you just ran out of other things to say because you never shut up.” 

“I mean, you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t bend you over here and now. Or let you bend me over.” Deadpool sneaks a glance at his companion, trying to read his reaction. “It’s been a real long time since I’ve bottomed. I don’t get a whole lot of action, lookin’ how I do, and the lays I do get never wanna top for a Shaq-sized bastard like me.” 

“I would top you,” Spider-Man replies. He tries his hardest to sound flippant, but damn if his voice doesn’t crack. Deadpool chokes on his own spit. “I mean,” Spidey continues, ”I’ve never topped, but I’ve been with women and I figure it’s a pretty similar concept, yeah? Dick goes in?” 

“Don’t play with me,” rasps Deadpool. He’s already getting hard in his suit thinking about it. “It’s not a funny joke.” 

“I’m not joking,” Spider-Man replies. Deadpool stops walking and grab’s Spidey’s wrist. 

“No peeking. You have no idea how bad I want this, but you have to promise you won’t look at anything the suit normally covers.” 

“Deal,” Spider-Man chuckles. 

\- 

“Fuck,” Deadpool gasps, “shit, Spidey, I’m ready. Fuck me.” 

“You beg nicely,” Spider-Man hums sweetly and slips a third finger in. He watches the streets below, Spidey-senses on full alert as he toys with Deadpool’s tight hole. There’s something sexy about not bothering to look at what he’s doing, no matter how badly he’d love to peek. “See, I don’t know if I want to fuck you yet. Imagine how good you’d beg if I left you here, unfinished. Next time I saw you, you’d be so desperate for cock you’d stretch yourself open for me while I watched.” 

Deadpool comes untouched, and Spider-Man is wondering who just hijacked his brain and made him say those things. The smaller man runs a gentle hand over the larger’s leather-clad back, ending with a pat between the shoulder blades. 

“Do you think my soulmate will hate me for this?” 

The question catches Spider-Man so off guard, he turns his head to look at his companion and panics at what he sees. His vision tilts, he plummets off the edge of the roof and the ground rushes up to meet him, but oh. His webshooters catch him. He’s running away. Of course he is, the coward. 

By the time Deadpool has his pants back up, Spidey’s gone. Deadpool knows he must have seen the scars that cover his whole body and been too disgusted to stick around. He can’t say he blames the little wall crawler. He’d leave himself, too, if he could; he’s tried. As a matter of fact, he sets off in search of a nice alleyway to give it another shot. 

Across town, Spider-Man tumbles through an apartment window and collapses into a hyperventilating mess. Wade is Deadpool. Deadpool is Wade. Of all the fucked-up convoluted things in the world, why this? Peter Parker doesn’t deserve this, but Spider-Man straight up doesn’t have the time. 

What sick, twisted universe made it possible to patrol the city alongside your soulmate for three years without ever saying the right words to each other? Who was the evil mastermind behind pairing a superhero with a mercenary? And why did Wade have to be such a slut!?


	5. Mercenaries don't have bosses.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys my husband I just bought a house (AHHHH!!) and my first wedding anniversary is coming up (EEEEE!!) so I might be slow to update.   
> We bought the house as-is and it's full of stuff, so we'll be super busy cleaning before we can move in. We're hoping to move in on our anniversary <3  
> fun fact my husband and I actually met bc of our respective loves of Deadpool and Spider-Man and we have matching spideypool tattoos.

At first, the obvious solution is to tell Wade he knows. The thing is, admitting he knows also means admitting that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. It’s not a step Peter or Spidey is ready to take. Peter can count on one hand the amount of people who know: Gwen Stacey, Tony Stark, and Bruce Banner. He hadn’t planned on adding to that list for a long time. 

Peter puts the pieces together, bit by bit. Wade, covered in scars from an accident. Deadpool, experimentally mutated to “cure” his cancer. Wade, who has nothing but money. Deadpool, who kills for cash. Fuck, Peter’s going to be sick. 

\- 

After a while, Peter stops being upset. Yes, he’s still freaking out and trying to understand how having altar-egos affected their soul marks, but he’s not upset that Wade hooked up with Spider-Man. As far as that goes, they’re even. 

As the anger fades, sadness takes its place. Poor, poor Wade. He assumes Peter is disgusted by his scars, even after Peter accepted him. He assumed Spider-Man would be, too, which is why he didn’t want Spidey to see. 

It dawns on Peter all at once that he, a big fucking idiot, met his soulmate and then didn’t discuss a relationship at all. Of course Wade assumes Peter’s put off. Stupid Peter just thought it was a given that he was in a relationship with his soulmate now and never thought to bring it up. And shitty Peter didn’t let that stop him from hooking up with who he thought was another man. He feels terrible. 

He also feels terrible that Spidey left Deadpool without a word like that. It definitely couldn’t have helped Wade’s ego. Peter hopes he can find a way to make that one up to Wade without outing himself as Spider-Man. 

He still stands by the fact that Spider-Man doesn’t have time for this. 

-

It’s three days before Peter sees his soulmate again. Spider-Man can’t find Deadpool anywhere, and Peter has no idea how to contact Wade. 

A knock on his door startles Peter awake, and he opens it to find Wade holding a very big box. 

“Ohemgee, you’re wearing the sweater I got you! SO precious,” he squeals. “Can you and your ratty friend show me where to put this?” Peter looks down to realize he’s holding Chuck by the tail and feels his face go hot. 

“What is it? It’s ginormous.” A yawn gets poorly stifled. 

Wade giggles. “I get that a lot. It’s a space heater, babycakes! Last time I was here, it was way too cold for a delicate little flower like yourself. I’m trying to harass the landlord into fixing your heat, but this will have to do until then.” 

Peter tries really, really hard to ignore the fact that this is a blood money heater. He also makes a note to himself that Spider-Man should keep an eye out for his landlord, just in case it’s _Deadpool_ harassing him instead of Wade. 

“Uh, wh-wherever you think it’ll be the best? You don’t have to do this for me, Wade.” 

“I want to,” is Wade’s simple reply. He puts the box down in the middle of the room and takes his hood off. His movements are slow and deliberate, the smile he flashes at Peter is soft and unsure. How is this the same man that teabagged a nazi while on patrol two months ago? 

“Thank you,” Peter murmurs softly. “I’m glad to see you again.” Wade’s smile gets a little more sparkle behind it, and Peter’s tummy does a thing. “Can we sit and talk for a minute?” 

“No can do, not until I have this heater put together for you. You and Chuck go sit and wait, okay sugar?” Peter obeys before he realizes he was given an order. Once again, his cheeks flame. Judging by the smirk on Wade’s face, it’s too late for Peter to try and hide his blush. 

Peter manages to wait until Wade’s almost done, but he just can’t sit in silence anymore. 

“I want to be your boyfriend,” he blurts. Wade jumps in surprise and gashes his hand on a metal piece; it heals immediately. They both stare at each other for a moment. 

“Even after that?” 

Peter nods. 

“Really??” 

“Yes,” Peter groans. “I’m letting sleeping dogs lie, Wade. I’m not normally the type of person who can do that, but I want this to work.” It’s a lie, but only a half one. The dogs aren’t sleeping anymore, but Peter’s still not ready to let them out of the cage. 

“Okay.” For the first time, Wade gives Peter a full blown smile, one that reaches his eyes. 

Peter wonders briefly if he should padlock the dogs into their cages, throw the key into the East River, and chase these moments. Here and now, with his merc identity a supposed secret, Wade seems at peace.   
Wade doesn’t carry worry in his shoulders the way Deadpool does. He doesn’t glance constantly over his shoulder the way he does on patrol. He sits peacefully, safe in a little bubble of domesticity. He’s not a mercenary right now, he’s Peter’s boyfriend. It might be good for both of them to keep things this way. 

\- 

Peter and Wade are watching Turbo when the illusion of domesticity shatters.  
.   
“I don’t understand why they had to give the snail a sexy voice,” Wade complains. Peter can’t help but giggle; Wade’s not wrong. They’re lounging on the couch, with Peter tucked under Wade’s arm. It feels natural and safe. Peter’s practically forgotten that the man he’s curled against is a killer. 

Then Wade’s phone goes off. In a split second, Peter can feel the switch from Wade to Deadpool. The larger man’s posture goes rigid and his eyes go steely. Peter focuses his enhanced hearing on Wade’s heartbeat: calm and steady, despite his defensive posture. 

“On my way,” Wade grumbles into the receiver. He hangs up without allowing the caller to speak. “I gotta go, Petey. That was my boss.” 

Wade’s heart jackhammers over his last sentence. He’s lying, of course; mercenaries don’t have bosses, they have clients. But Peter happens to know, thanks to Spider-Man and his friendship with Deadpool, that Wade can pass a polygraph without saying a single honest word. His heart doesn’t race because he lied; it’s racing because he’s feeling guilty about lying to Peter. 

“Have a good day at work,” Peter sneers. Wade’s out the door before he can hear it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a really short chapter but it's a self-contained event that begins our descent into madness. idk what to do about it other than give it its own chapter.

Peter has a strange dream that night.  
_  
He sits on a rooftop, swinging his legs as he watches the city below. His feet are bare; Peter hasn’t gone barefoot since the spider bit him. He certainly doesn't go barefoot as Spider-Man. Something in the back of his mind urges him to look at the soles of his feet, but he’s distracted before he can. A woman has emerged from the shadows behind him. Peter looks directly at her, but can’t make out her features; she’s beautiful, haunting, incomprehensible._

_“You know who I am,” she says to Peter. He doesn’t, not really. She’s not human, not mutant, not alien or god. She is something more than that. Something Peter can’t begin to comprehend. He understands that he’ll never understand, and that is as close as he’ll ever come to understanding. Some mysteries are too beautiful to solve. Some faces are too tragically beautiful to see._

_“Why are you here,” he asks. “It it time?”_

_She smiles at Peter and the air becomes supercharged, static electricity drawing every molecule of Peter in toward her._

_“Your clock has stopped, but your time is not over. Something has changed, Peter. Your soul is in danger. Two halves cannot become one whole if one half is broken.”_

_“Wade’s not broken.” Peter’s voice echoes around them, louder with each echo until a sudden silence smothers the noise. The angel reaches for Peter, pulling him to his feet._

_“No. You are. Peter Parker and Spider-Man need each other; should one deny the other, it begins a war in your own mind. A war I’m afraid no man or mutant can win. You must tell Wade the truth.”  
The air around Peter gets brighter, until he feels the angel’s presence but can’t see her. Perhaps she is the very air that shines around him. _

_“Who are you,” he calls out. The atmosphere holds its breath, anxiously awaiting her answer._

_“I’m death,” she whispers. Peter’s plunged into darkness, freefalling through the air. He doesn’t wake until he lands._  
  
Peter wakes with a start. What the fuck was that? He looks at the clock on his bedside table and heaves a sigh. It's five in the morning, which is much earlier than he wanted to wake up. At least Tony will be awake; maybe he and Dr. Banner can help Peter figure out what that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically Peter is losing his grip on reality by refusing to show his soulmate both halves of who he is. That's why he's been a snooty little asshole and this is my formal apology for making him that way. It'll get worse before it gets better but eventually Peter will be the character we all know and love. x)


End file.
